He lodged at a cheap sort of an inn. Finding that a steamer left the next morning for Calcutta, he gave orders to call him in proper time.

Having purchased passage, Oswald is at the wharf, disguised in ill-fitting duster and broad-brimmed hat, ready to embark. Some rough-looking men are at the dock, to whom this seedy stranger is a butt of much coarse comment. Incensed at their ridicule, Oswald longs to chastise them, but moves away.

Noting the evident wish of their victim to escape further abuse, these follow. Oswald stops short, but says nothing. A powerful bully, posing as leader, steps on Oswald's foot, aiming a blow at his drooping headgear. A terrific left-hander shoots out, encountering the jaw of our swaggering tough, who strikes the resounding planks with little ceremony. Two more rush at Oswald, when, dropping his satchel, both stretch their lengths on the wharf from right and left hand blows dealt almost together. Just then the bell sounds for departure, when a big officer comes up, puffing with surplus fat and official importance. Seeing three men stretched out, and learning that the odd-looking fellow then hurrying on board is the cause, he brandishes his club, striking Oswald on the shoulder, in pompous tones announcing his arrest. Oswald remonstrates, and attempts to explain that he is not the aggressor, but to all such, this swelling representative of the Crown's outraged dignity turns a deaf ear.

Giving a rough push, the officer starts away with his prisoner.

Oswald has great respect for constituted authority, but conscious of the complications which may result through delay, and smarting under the uncalled-for arrogance of this guardian of the public peace, drops his valise, and with two quick blows so completely paralyzes this uniformed official, that he fails to respond until after the vessel is under way.

When on board Oswald discards his long duster and broad brim.

No one recognizes in his dignified air of indifference the personnel of that drooping pedestrian who had electrified onlookers with such skillful sledge-hammer blows, so disastrous to bully insolence and official conceit.

Gradually Oswald's tense faculties relax, and an overwhelming reactive despondency takes possession of his being.

The experiences of the last few days pass before his vision. Retrospect is terrible. In this maze it avails not that he is guiltless of crime. The circumstances affirm his criminality. Is he not a refugee from justice?

Sitting alone upon the upper deck, he thus interrogates himself:

"Why not return, face my accusers, and know the worst? Why flee from the specter of a crime committed by another? Are my hands stained with human blood? Is not my soul blameless?"

Then in bitterness he says:

"Yes, return and be hung! Listen to adroitly narrated lies of detectives, caring only for vindication of their theories of guilt! Witness the heartless curiosity of vulgar crowds feasting on rumor and depraved gossip! Meet the cold, relentless gaze of those demanding satisfaction of outraged law! Hear the distorted evidence of witnesses, the impassioned appeal of the public prosecutor, as with hypocritical craft he urges the jury to hang no innocent man, and then pleads with them not to make the law a byword by turning loose a red-handed murderer! Watch the judge with solemn gravity adjust his glasses, preparatory to a dignified summing-up, conclusive of the prisoner's guilt! See the set lips of the 'unbiased twelve' as they retire for consideration of their verdict! Sit crushed under the terrible 'Guilty' and bootless, formal blasphemy, 'May God have mercy on your soul'! With pinioned arms and bandaged eyes hear the suppressed hum of mob—and then—the awful black!"

As these thoughts surged through his mind, Oswald registered a vow never to expiate the crime of another. "I will wander over the earth until old age; will face every danger of desert wilds; will resist to death any efforts for my arrest; but no gallows ever shall be erected for Oswald Langdon."

The injustice of his position confronted him with such force that Oswald felt defiant of all law. He would be an "Ishmaelite," finding "casus belli" in all the purposes of fate.

The instinct of self-defense and gravity of his position precluded sympathetic feeling for friends innocently involved in results of the tragedy. Such sentiments will come when present stress is less imminent.

Emerging from the English Channel, they are in the Bay of Biscay. A storm is raging. Sailors fear wreck, but Oswald feels not a tremor. What are ocean's pending perils to this human castaway, about whose hunted soul seem closing the tentacles of fate?

Roar of tempest, blinding electric flash, rushing wave, descending spray, creaking timbers, with instinctive ravening of ocean's hungry hordes, are luring, friendly greetings compared to merciless clamor of that receding shore.

Spending its spasmodic heat, the storm subsides, and the ship plows on toward destined port.



CHAPTER VI

THE TRIPLE WEB

Sir Donald and Esther returned from the opera expecting to meet their friends. Admitted by the servant, they were informed that Alice and Oswald were still out. A little surprised, they expect them momentarily. After waiting some time, Esther expresses the opinion that possibly an accident occurred, causing the delay. Sir Donald has no fear but what Alice and Oswald soon will arrive. "They have enjoyed the ride and gone farther than intended."

Esther sees the probability of this, but feels piqued at their careless conduct.

"Alice should know better than to stay out so late! Perhaps they have not started back yet!"

Sir Donald looks up and notes his daughters evident excitement. Her flashing eyes and quivering lips tell their story.

Esther feels that she has shown too much interest, and resorts to pretty arts of dissembling.

Sir Donald is indulgent. He acquiesces in Esther's artful show, and with much animation they chat away for another hour on subjects which seem to have new interest for this charming girl. Finally both retire.

They listen, expecting the bell soon to announce the return of Alice and Oswald.

Both Esther and Sir Donald arose early. They were puzzled at the strange absence of their friends. Some accident must have befallen them. Perhaps assistance is needed. However, it would be wise to avoid undue haste and notoriety. The innocent conduct and mishaps of their friends must not be made the theme of vulgar gossip.

Restrained by these refined sentiments, Esther and Sir Donald waited until afternoon before taking any action. Then they started out together, and procuring a boat, rowed up the Thames in the direction which Oswald and Alice had taken, the keeper going with them.

After about an hour the boat was found, and all landed at this point. No signs of the missing couple were seen. It was decided that Sir Donald and Esther should row farther up the stream, while the keeper searched the shore for any signs of the young people. Soon all stopped.

Oswald's hat was found upon the bank at the rustic seat. Their search up and down the river revealed no other clew. They returned greatly shocked.

It seemed certain that both had disappeared at the place where the hat was found. In some way they had gone over the bank. There may have been a bloody tragedy, but most likely Alice had fallen over into the stream, and Oswald, attempting her rescue, both were drowned.

The police were notified. Careful search up and down both sides of the stream gave no further clew. All the means available for rescue of the bodies were employed. Finally a lace handkerchief was found. Esther identified it as the property of Alice. The delicately embroidered initials "A.W." made its identity complete. Both had been murdered or were accidentally drowned.

The papers commented upon this mysterious affair. Reporters vied in their narratives of exciting coincidences.

Sir Donald and Esther were harassed by all sorts of questions as to the antecedents of their friends. Between desire to be courteous and dictates of discretion, they often were much puzzled.

Detectives, each with his own theory, made frequent calls. While polite, these inquisitors were most persistent in their persecutions. What cared they for refined scruples? The presence of both missing parties at Northfield, their conduct while there, and Oswald's stay at the home of Alice in London were dwelt upon at length. Failing to get full replies responsive to direct questions, shrewdly phrased opinions delicately hinting at possible infatuation of one or the other were expressed.

Sir Donald, though much annoyed, could answer with apparent frankness, yet conceal what he wished not told, but Esther had greater difficulty. Their inquisitors soon became aware of this. Not desiring notoriety, but shrinking from apparent concealment, Esther's distress was evident.

At first Sir Donald refrained from further instruction to Esther than simple suggestion of care in her answers. But this inexperienced girl was no match for detectives or reporters, who quizzed her mercilessly.

Sir Donald came to the rescue with a vigor most decisive.

One reporter had been offensively persistent. An amateur detective was pressing Sir Donald with his theory of the case.

"Oswald suggested the night ride, and lured Alice to the rustic seat for the purpose of murdering the girl. To avoid blame for her betrayal, she was thrown into the river. His hat was left at the spot as evidence that he too met death. Oswald fled, and is now somewhere in disguise."

Sir Donald managed to suppress his indignation at the substance and manner of this statement. Just then the reporter in the next room asked Esther by direct question what he had been urging by innuendo:

"Was there anything in the conduct of your friends while at Northfield or in London which indicated that they were unduly familiar?"

Before time for reply, the reporter was lifted through the front door, landing beyond the porch. No one seeming to appreciate our sleuth's brilliant theory, he promptly left.

Both Sir Donald and Esther regretted the notoriety likely to result from this affair, but none of its details were published.

Soon after, there appeared in a London paper this comment:

"It is pretty generally agreed that a certain gentleman and his daughter know more than they feel safe to relate about the mysterious disappearance of Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. Their evident embarrassment when questioned regarding the conduct of the missing parties is significant. There is such a thing as being an accessory to crime by concealment. There is no wrath like that of—, etc. A little detective work along a certain line might unearth some startling finds. A hint to the wise is sufficient."

Sir Donald received a marked copy of the paper containing this screed, but concealed it from his daughter. This precaution was unavailing, as another copy, conspicuously marked, was delivered by special carrier to Esther.

Both were greatly distressed by these insinuations. Every one would know to whom reference was made. However, there was nothing which could be done. To resent this attack would be most indiscreet.

Relying upon the probability that Sir Donald and Esther were sufficiently disciplined by this publication, other inquisitors appeared.

Sir Donald's manner was so frigid that none cared to persist. No one had the audacity further to interview Esther.

Instead of returning at once to Northfield, they remained several days in London. Realizing that there might be some suspicion cast upon them, Sir Donald was on his mettle. So far from shrinking from public gaze, he openly moved about his affairs with dignified composure. He consulted one of the most noted London detectives, retaining his agency to unravel the Dodge conspiracy, lake tragedy, and these mysterious disappearances.

This agency undertook to solve the three complex issues involved, convinced that these were so interwoven as to form one web. Skillful assistants were intrusted with particular lines of investigation. Double shifts were employed in watching each of the Laniers. A trusted lieutenant, skilled in intricate work, was sent to India.

Sir Donald keenly felt the unpleasant notoriety. He had been attacked at the most sensitive, vital point of his nature. Never before had he experienced any sense of social ostracism. No thought of family shame ever had suffused his cheek. And his beloved Esther! This motherless girl, whose clinging, obedient love and trusting dependence had wound their silken tendrils around every pulsing fiber of his soul!

That penny-liners could make coarse reference or express vague innuendo about this pure-minded, sensitive girl seemed horrible. He could have trampled to death such offenders with deliberate fury, yet this vengeance but more surely would crush Esther's hopes. For her sake he must be patient. Time, property, and every available means will find employment in her vindication. There shall be permitted no maudlin sentiment of pity in this undertaking. Certain retribution shall be whetted by each delay.

This former impersonation of complacent optimism, acquiescing in all human experiences as special essentials of the infinite plan, shrinks from such crucial test. This is surely a noted exception. A daughter's tender heartstrings are too sensitive for such stoic touch.

Sir Donald chafes at slow processes of retributive justice. How tardy the infinitesimal grind! Would that the wheels speed their lagging momentum!

The former Sir Donald Randolph is changed. His old philosophical, speculative, idealistic bent is as completely in abeyance as though stricken with rudimentary palsy. In their stead is an alert, untiring, relentless Nemesis, more pitiless because of intense, novel zeal.

But Sir Donald is handicapped. Not that time or money is lacking. These are available. What about Esther? Her comment upon the absence of Oswald and Alice that night had been painfully distinct. The unmistaken, mute language of her eyes and quivering lips was clearer. Her pretty, persistent dissembling was confirmation. Subsequent suspicious innuendoes had aggravated her feelings. He asks himself: "Shall I neglect this troubled child to engage in ferreting out crime? Why should Esther's sorrows merit her father's neglect?"

Seeing a picture of justice blinded, he exclaims: "What mocking irony in judicial pose of blind goddess poising nicely adjusted balance, whose crude, arbitrary registers reckon not of vicarious pain!"

Sir Donald's first duty is at home. Justice can find agents more expert than he, but its ministry is too coarse for the subtle sentiments of the fireside.

Sir Donald and Esther returned to Northfield.

Though taking her father into many little girlish confidences, Esther had not told him of her life's mission or of Oswald's proposal. She still remained silent. Both subjects were painful. Her father's worries should not be increased.

Esther sees no way to begin her chosen work. Recent troubles cloud her vision. She shrinks from the notoriety. That which was once grand charity and self-sacrifice is now crafty, hypocritical show.

She knows her father's proud sense of propriety and abhorrence of every sham profession cannot be reconciled to such step at this time. Has not this field been interdicted by Providence? Are her faculties to find employment in the more congenial ministries of home?

Esther feels a sort of vague responsibility for the tragic occurrences of the past few weeks. True, she had acted from high moral sense of duty, but conscience is often dogmatic.

Esther knows Oswald was sincere. That she loved this manly, refined, courteous suitor she is most painfully certain. But for her acquiescence in the infatuation of Alice Webster, Oswald never would have encouraged the growing sentiment of this girl. Had Esther remained at Northfield, Oswald would have stayed away from London. But for Esther's apparent desire that Oswald and Alice take the boat-ride while she accompanied Sir Donald to the opera, both now would be alive.

Esther charged herself with being the cause of all Sir Donald's sorrows, and wished to bear his burdens.

For several months Sir Donald and Esther remained at Northfield. Occasionally they went to London, Esther accompanying her father upon these brief trips. Each felt sympathy for the other. Such generous sentiments, while bringing additional solicitude, have their compensations. Personal griefs gradually recede. Vain regrets are merging in tender companionship and mutual sympathy. Each tries to bear the other's load. Thereby selfish grief grows less acute.

Gradually Sir Donald's champing impatience for speedy retribution sufficiently subsides for intelligent survey of the situation. From the nature of the case, time, patience, and much discretion are required. Isolated circumstances shall find coherent connections, chasms of time and latitude are to be bridged.

Sir Donald keeps advised of what is being done by the agency. Circumstances have been reported, but there are many missing links. One report concluded thus: "Both Pierre and Paul Lanier are still in London. It is sure that these are confederates of William Dodge. The tireless, systematic camping of the detectives upon the Lanier trails found them both in frequent conference with Dodge. All were disguised. When casual reference to the Dodge suit was made in hearing of either father or son, Lanier conduct had careful watchers. Their speech and silence were alike significant. The fact that neither Dodge nor Lanier ever had met the other was noted."

Sir Donald surprised the opposition by having the Dodge case set for trial.

There was a conference held at the office of the Dodge solicitors. William Dodge and both Laniers were present, two of the party being in disguise. Soon after, the case of William Dodge against Alice Webster was dismissed by the complainant.

At a London meeting, the Bureau chief said to Sir Donald: "Your bluff worked well. It is now sure that Dodge is the tool of the Laniers. Alice Webster's death rendered this conspiracy unavailing. The interests to be subserved by the bringing of this action are in another venue. India is the proper jurisdiction. William Webster's estate and Pierre Lanier are the real parties in interest."

William Dodge quit London, and both Laniers sailed for Calcutta.

Sir Donald and Esther left Northfield for Paris.



CHAPTER VII

SOUTHAMPTON TO CALCUTTA

The conclusion of Oswald Langdon to sail for India was hurriedly formed while at Southampton. There were many other places more likely to have been the choice of mature deliberation.

Oswald had a glimpse of his assailant at the river. The blow upon the head of Alice and thrust following were in quick succession, but he received an impression as to their enemy's identity. He had seen the same heavily whiskered face on the trip from Northfield to London, and in Hyde Park. Had not he observed that listening attitude, while Alice was relating her troubles with Paul Lanier? This eavesdropper knew their arrangements for the night ride. Doubtless this man followed along the shore and saw them at the rustic seat. Screened behind the bushes, he heard all their conversation. Either through premeditated malice or sudden passion, the blows had been struck. Paul Lanier was the only man who could have any object in this assault. Paul had learned of Alice's escape from the lake. He surely thought she had told all about this affair, and Paul had followed them in disguise. By silencing forever this the only witness to his crime, he could defy hearsay testimony. It became necessary to kill both. Perhaps Paul fled soon as Alice and Oswald fell over the bank. Possibly he may have seen Oswald reach the shore. It might be that Paul knew of the flight, and deliberately permitted it, to insure his final ruin.

These thoughts harassed Oswald after his arrival in India. Was not this supposed asylum the home of Pierre Lanier? If identified, and the body of Alice were found, how could Oswald escape conviction as her murderer? His flight would be conclusive.

Oswald felt strong determination. He would neither skulk nor court observation. If seen here by either Pierre or Paul Lanier, he would face the issue. Fully convinced that in degree both were guilty of this murder and of an attempt upon his own life, he reasoned that neither would risk further notoriety than such as might be essential to their own protection.

Oswald wishes that he had sailed to some other country, but his money now is nearly spent, and employment must be obtained. What can he do? Where and of whom shall he seek work? His life had been spent mostly at school. True, he is a physical athlete, but how farm this barren resource? If chance come to explore remote wilds, this will accord with his restless spirit, while insuring immunity from arrest.

At Calcutta, Oswald made ostensible search for employment. Many gazed at this fine-looking Englishman and shook their heads.

The fact is that Oswald was looking for something he felt little curiosity to find. His manner was so courteous, there being such an air of refinement, that he gained much information about business enterprises. This was his real purpose.

Calcutta was too cosmopolitan. There could be little hope of isolation in this Indian metropolis. Its ever-changing population came from all quarters of the globe. To remain hidden in shunned districts, among moral and social lepers, would be living death. How else stay in Calcutta and not be recognized? The thought of constant disguise was repugnant. He shrank from the appearance of falsehood. Realizing the urgent necessity of concealment, he must be reserved and silent, having no confidants. In what remote part of this great empire can he be lost to curious observation while employed in congenial work?

To one who recommended certain hard work, but spoke of its perils, he replied:

"Perilous undertakings shall have no terrors. Dangers will be welcomed as the spice of life. My restless energies crave occupation, but there must be no menial taint. Mental and physical toil are not to be shunned, but my hands shall remain clean."

Oswald feels some relaxation of tense dread. He begins to take a less somber view of the situation. Possibly his missing hat had been found and identified. Perhaps the London public thought both had been drowned. Might it not be that no search was made for him, his death being conceded? Strange if detectives were now on the trail of Paul Lanier. Was Paul likely to sail for Calcutta when this would be the place searched for the fugitives? Would Pierre Lanier return to India, or remain in London until the mysterious disappearances ceased to interest the public mind? The Laniers would not care to meet the man they had attempted to murder and thought dead. Possibly to remove a witness they again might conspire directly against his life.

Oswald's chance for employment comes in most desirable form. An engineering party contemplates a trip to the Himalaya Mountains.

Oswald finds the chief, offers his services, and is employed at good pay. The work requires an indefinite absence from Calcutta. No information is given as to details. The purposes of this expedition are sealed. Its destination is near the point where three empires meet.



CHAPTER VIII

STRANGE ROMANCE OF PAUL AND AGNES

William Dodge took an extended trip over the continent, finally settling down for a prolonged stay at Paris. The Laniers sailed for Calcutta, but landed at Bombay.

Paul assumed an air of elegant refinement. It was rumored that father and son were fabulously wealthy. To all such gossip both seemed indifferent. Their hauteur and reserve insured desired social entree, while hedging against impertinent curiosity.

Paul was lionized. After attending gatherings of Bombay elite, Paul condescended to manifest interest. The niece of an English aristocrat had arrested his attention.

Sir Charles Chesterton was rich and unmarried. Agnes Randall was his favorite. It was reported that this uncle had willed the bulk of his immense wealth to Agnes. Paul Lanier had heard casual reference to these bits of gossip, but seemed bored. What were vulgar expectations to refined possessor of unlimited capital?

But the good qualities of this lovely girl found appreciation. Spite of reputed wealth and high expectations, her manners had interested Paul Lanier. He accepted invitations to dine with both uncle and niece. No curiosity as to financial matters was manifested. Such common sentiment was too low for Paul.

This rich Englishman and his interesting niece recently had arrived at Bombay.

Both were interested in Paul's antecedents and future prospects. The growth of this sentiment was natural and reserved, neither premature nor effusive.

After suitable time Pierre Lanier received an invitation to dine with Sir Charles. Agnes was present. Their guest was treated with due respect, as the father of such elegant son. Pierre was elated. Under the influence of rare wines, Sir Charles and Pierre became confidential. Sir Charles seemed fully absorbed in his own financial conquests. At first he listened with impatience to any of Pierre's guarded talk. Sir Charles' recitals were so insinuating that Pierre felt much constraint toward polite bragging. However, the secretive habit of a lifetime sealed his lips against boastful avowals. Vintage warmth elicited nothing more than a few guarded hints at possible craft in acquisition of untold wealth.

This interesting quartette became so exclusive that little attention was paid to other Bombay society. It soon was rumored that Paul Lanier and Agnes Randall were mutually smitten. The report was confirmed by the manner of all. In their confidences, Sir Charles and Pierre casually referred to this gossip. It was talked over between Agnes and Paul. Neither evinced any disposition to discipline the "tattling dame."

Paul proposed marriage. Agnes felt disposed to grant his suit, but would abide her uncle's decision. To Paul this appeared proper. He entertained the highest respect for Sir Charles Chesterton. Much as Paul desired this marriage, he would defer to the judgment of her fond uncle.

It was arranged that Paul should submit the matter the next day. At the time appointed the subject came up in the private room of Sir Charles. Paul was graciously received. From Sir Charles' manner Paul was sure that Agnes had spoken to her uncle of the proposal, and had received a favorable response. He avowed his love for Agnes, and their intention to abide Sir Charles' decision.

This gracious uncle for a while remains silent. His prolonged pause embarrasses Paul. Sir Charles asks where Paul was born, where his relatives reside, their names, his father's antecedents, their future intentions as to home and business, what portions of the world they had seen, adding, "These questions may seem impertinent, but I wish to know all about the one seeking the hand of my favorite niece and heir."

Encouraged, Paul answers quite fully. Sir Charles seems satisfied.

After an extended pause, during which Paul shifts about in nervous anticipation, Sir Charles tells him there is yet another important matter, often neglected, but of which, before deciding, he must have full information.

"To my mind the present and future property interests of the proposed husband of Agnes Randall are vital considerations. This young girl would not think of such matters, but I have lived longer, and never will consent to her marrying a pauper. I anticipate living a few years, and whoever becomes the husband of Agnes Randall must have sufficient property to support her elegantly during this time. After I am through with earth there will be no danger about the future of my niece, as my will provides for that."

Paul assures Sir Charles that both he and his father are very wealthy.

Sir Charles seems much pleased. He hopes Paul will not consider him impertinent, but there must be a more definite statement of financial resources.

"I must have an inventory. The list must be full, including every description of property, real and personal, with exact location of each separate parcel. If you desire, I will furnish such a statement of my property, which is all willed to Agnes, but there must be one furnished to me."

Paul is willing to tell Sir Charles all about the matter, but cannot now properly describe their properties as required.

Sir Charles says:

"Mr. Lanier, tell all you know, to be made more definite later."

With paper and pencil Sir Charles makes notes. The recital is quite minute and without reserve. Sir Charles is much gratified. His memory refreshed by interjected inquiries, Paul tells so much that there is little need of promised statement. However, Sir Charles does not waive further information.

In good spirits, Paul leaves to confer with Pierre Lanier.

The wily father is much pleased at his son's matrimonial prospects, but says: "Paul, I do not like his insistence on details, but perhaps you ought to humor him. So far as information cannot be evaded, the truth should be told, for possibly this stubborn fellow may take time and trouble to verify your statements."

The list is prepared with care. Within three days the completed statement is presented to Sir Charles, who promises to look it over.

Agnes and Paul are often together. They exchange mutual confidences, each expressing the fond hope that her uncle will be satisfied. Incidentally Paul speaks of his past experiences, giving wrong names, places, dates, and associations. He is encouraged to do this by the artless curiosity and interest of this fond girl, whose past at times seems entirely merged in that of her lover.

Frequently Agnes speaks of Paul's reminiscent confidences when her uncle is present. Some trifling changes are made by Paul, but she is too fond to be sensitive. Her memory is defective. Even Paul's guarded mention of boyish excesses is interesting. Both uncle and niece approve of the youthful sower's occupation. There are seasons for distributing untamed oats.

Pierre Lanier accepts frequent invitations to call upon these aristocratic friends. He and Sir Charles are growing still more confidential.

The matrimonial decision is further postponed, but in such frank, honest manner, that waiting is not difficult.

In strict confidence, Sir Charles tells of many dubious successes. He knows the elder Lanier will not betray a friend's trust. Without prying into secrets of his guest, Sir Charles touches on outskirts of many crafty exploits, suggestive of more complex villainies. Pierre Lanier is greatly interested, but the narrative always lacks coherence at the most thrilling point.

By his questionable tactics Sir Charles had amassed great wealth, which covered all moral turpitude with silken mantle.

Gradually the habitual secrecy of Pierre Lanier loses its restraining discretion. These cronies become inseparable. Under influence of insidious drinks, they vie in recitals of villainous craft. Sir Charles enjoins strict secrecy.

"Never let Paul and Agnes know what their father and uncle have done for them!"

Sir Charles seems to revel in such reminiscences. He has his friend repeat parts of narratives at different times, and never tires of these villainous recitals.

Sir Charles promises to decide concerning Paul's proposal within three months. This is most exasperating, but there is no help. He will take a trip to Calcutta, and postpone decision until his return.

It is evident to both Laniers that Sir Charles intends to test their statements of property interests at that point. The elder Lanier has business there, and will be pleased to accompany Sir Charles. Paul prefers to remain in Bombay, and is delighted that Agnes has no thought of going on this trip. Sir Charles is glad to visit Calcutta with his dear friend Pierre Lanier. They sail together.

Paul's calls upon Agnes are frequent. These seem indifferent to Bombay society, finding ample diversion in each other's presence. There is about Agnes such bewitching air of refinement, coupled with suggestive, romantic interest, that Paul yields completely to the charm. Her conduct varies, and there are capricious feminine moods. Paul sees in these, hints of possible estrangement, and suits his manners to every change.

Agnes discreetly limits Paul's calls to proper times. The intervals between these visits he endures under protest. Paul becomes still more hopelessly infatuated, and is ready to applaud any suggestion of this charming girl. Loyal to her unspoken whims, he would not hesitate at any act she might seem to approve. Agnes' caprices multiply with Paul's increasing acquiescence. There are many blanks in her narratives, and Paul feels these must be properly filled.

Agnes seems bored at commonplace talk, never appearing really happy except when listening to Paul's telling of questionable exploits wherein he was the central figure. Hints at successful craft, vindictive temper, swift retribution, and bootless pursuit are sure of thrilling appreciation. But those bewitching smiles subsiding, Paul is obliged to regain favor by more explicit recitals, seconded by her pertinent questioning.

By slow processes the story is told. Names, dates, and places have been misstated, but such inadvertences are not misleading.

Circumstances correct particular errata.

Some time after the departure of Sir Charles and Pierre Lanier for Calcutta, Agnes informs Paul that her uncle has sailed for Bombay. She had received word to that effect, and his letter was of most cheerful tone.

Paul expects a favorable decision, and with pleasant emotions awaits the arrival of Sir Charles. Agnes requests that Paul defer again calling before Thursday. This will be two days, but she wishes to avoid scandal. Comments have been made by cheap tattlers about his frequent visits.

"Perhaps in a little while there will be no need for such care."

Paul is pleased at the modest suggestion. He looks forward to marriage with this aristocratic heiress, and the future is most luminous. Even haunting memories of Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon fail to dampen Paul's expectant joy. These recede, their menacing voices stilled by hope's siren lullaby.

Upon Thursday evening Paul calls upon Agnes, according to appointment. The servant ushers him into the private room of Sir Charles. This seems strange, but Paul thinks it some caprice of Agnes. There is but one chair in the room, and this faces the door through which Paul expects Agnes to enter. The lights are dim and throw fitful shadows. Though feeling a superstitious sense, Paul's strong nerves brace against all "uncanny" sentiments. He attempts to turn on more light, but finds this is impossible. He shifts uneasily, finally picking up a paper lying on a small table within reach. Date and title startle him. How came this copy of London Press of such date in possession of Sir Charles or Agnes? Paul's hand shakes as he glances over the paper's contents. He beholds, under heavily marked red lines, the account of the Thames tragedy.

Just then the door opens from an adjoining room. Draped in seaweed, the form of Alice Webster appears, blood oozing from her bruised temple, long damp tresses clinging to her neck and face. With uplifted hand, the apparition slowly advances toward the cowering Paul, as if to strike. Paralyzed with terror, the guilty wretch falls upon the floor, begging for mercy. Slowly the ghost, without change of mien, passes backward through the open door, disappearing in rayless darkness.



Paul recovers, and rising resumes his seat. Straining his bewildered gaze, he sees that the door is shut. He is alone. Everything is as before. It must have been an hallucination, but how dreadfully real the appearance of drowned Alice Webster! Where is Agnes? Soon he hears a voice in the next room.

With solemn inflection it repeats from Hood's "Eugene Aram" these fearful lines:

"'Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I feared him all the more For lying there so still: There was a manhood in his look That murder could not kill.

* * * * *

"'So wills the fierce avenging sprite Till blood for blood atones. Ay, tho' he's buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh, The world shall see his bones.'"

There is a minute's pause.

"Wonder what detains Mr. Lanier!"

Tremblingly Paul opens the door between the rooms, and there are many surprised remarks, followed by explanations.

Agnes says: "I heard the bell, and supposed you entered the sitting-room. I continued my toilet, and was delayed by missing articles of apparel. The new servant, in her zeal, disarranged everything. Without directions from me about your expected appearance, the servant ushered you by mistake into my uncle's private room."

The bewitching manner and artless talk of Agnes soon quiet Paul's excited nerves. No hint is given of his strange apparition. The evening passes pleasantly, though at times Paul feels a creepy sense of dread. He is loth to leave. From mute signs he concludes it is better to go. Paul hurries away about midnight.

Within half an hour the rooms occupied by Sir Charles and Agnes are vacated. Two figures in male attire enter a closed conveyance, and are driven rapidly in an opposite direction from that taken by Paul Lanier.



CHAPTER IX

THE HOSPITAL CONFESSION

Sir Donald Randolph and Esther remained several months at Paris.

While keeping fully advised of all developments reported to the London detective bureau, Sir Donald seemed absorbed in sight-seeing. His zeal in unmasking the conspiracy resulting in the double murder was unabated. That Paul Lanier, at the instigation of his father, committed the homicides, partial developments tended to prove. From Calcutta and Bombay advices received at London there was no doubt that some fraud had been perpetrated against the estate of William Webster by his partner in India.

Sir Donald felt much concern for the welfare of Esther. Not having his retributive zeal to support her in this trial, she brooded more over the recent past. He tried to divert her mind to pleasant subjects, thereby weaning from sorrowful memories.

There was much in Paris life to engross youthful attention. This, with her generous sympathy for her father's troubles and effort to mitigate his painful remembrances, prevented gloomy melancholy. Yet Esther could not be joyous. Both Oswald and Alice were transfigured. Her love for the one and pity for the other grew in tender pathos. Oswald Langdon ever would be an ideal of courteous, refined, considerate, earnest, high-souled manhood, whose last of life had touched her being's most sensitive vibratory chords.

Father and daughter were much admired by Parisian social elite. Their rare intelligence, culture, and refined manners had an irresistible charm. However, there was that about both which repelled familiar personal association. They moved amid gay festivities as if their thoughts were elsewhere.

This abstraction and mutual care for each other's wants tinged their conduct with romantic interest. In all the whirl and surge of Parisian life, these unique faces never failed to attract notice. Neither seeking nor avoiding social recognition, they became quite extensively known among prominent French families and cosmopolitan notables domiciled at this Mecca of migratory moneyed aristocracy.

Sir Donald's intellectual acumen and rare versatility could not fail to impress all with whom he came in contact. His elegance of manner and diction, easy grace, with air of accustomed self-poise suggested habitual luxurious environment.

Esther's finely molded, expressive features, faultless form, pensive grace, and rare feminine accomplishments seemed natural paternal dower. Doors flew open as if by magic; desired entree smiled eager beckoning; refined circles gave freedom of their domain. Many arts of indirection were employed by eligible madames, monsieurs, and visiting notables of both sexes to remove that invisible yet formidable barrier of reserve. Courteous evasion or mild indifference or other countercraft parried every assault. In some few instances, vague or more positive-mannered "cuts" silenced curious inquiry, but these were rare. After one successful evasion, he remarked to Esther: "Refined, resolute reserve has many arts for warding off both vulgar and cultured impertinence."

Esther found time to learn much about the condition of Paris poor. Sir Donald encouraged this whim as tending to divert her mind from the past and to exert a wholesome influence. Many little helpful ministries among this class could be credited to her brief sojourn in this European capital. Esther frequently visited at the hospitals. Her calls were so ordered that notoriety was avoided. Naturally timid, she now shrank from publicity as contagion, but would take necessary hazards.

Esther's zeal grows with knowledge of human want. Service becomes high privilege. Ward of want is now sanctuary. She sometimes has glimpses of angelic competition.

Smiling at his daughter's helpful infatuation, Sir Donald often accompanied her in these calls. He soon feels symptoms of mild interest. The contagion is pleasing. These visits grow in length and frequency. Sir Donald is losing zeal for man-capture. He is in danger of yielding to the delusive heresy which sees more of interest in human suffering than in crime.

One stormy day father and daughter are at a hospital. They had thought of staying away until after the rain was over, but Esther seemed lonely, and Sir Donald proposed an immediate call. They rode in a closed carriage, taking some delicacies to those who had learned to watch for their coming.

A piteous moan attracts Esther's quick ear and sympathy. Going softly down the aisle, she places her hand upon the fevered brow of a new inmate. The sufferer opens his eyes with a startled look. She asks his name and ailment. There is an expression of supplication on the pale face.

"Am I dreaming? No, it cannot be Miss Randolph."

"Yes, I am Esther Randolph. Won't you kindly tell me your name?"

Seeing his hesitation, Esther added: "Whisper it! I will not tell!" Sir Donald came near, but was motioned to stop. He understood her reason, and moved away. There was no response.

"Perhaps I can do something for you!"

"Not now. I shall soon be where help never comes."

Esther begged him to permit her to send for a minister.

"There is no use! My crimes are too great!"

Esther could not leave this strange sufferer with his goading conscience. She suggested that perhaps by telling her of his past life some good might result to the living. He remained silent for a while.

"Yes; but how atone for the death of the innocent? No, I did not kill them! I never knew about the murders until both were drowned!"

He seemed in fevered reverie. Esther, now excited, but controlling her voice, soothingly said:

"Tell me all your troubles. You are safe."

"But they will kill me if I tell! They never fail to have revenge."

"But if you are dying, why go before God without telling all? How can they hurt you for telling?" whispered Esther.

"True; but if I should not die?"

"Tell all, and you shall not be harmed."

He looked long in her face and eyes.

"Yes, I will tell none but you. I have seen you and your father in London. Where is your father now?"

"Here in this ward."

There is a startled look.

"But Sir Donald Randolph is my enemy!"

Esther assured him that her father never would betray the trust of a dying man.

He seemed convinced, but indulged in further soliloquy.

"Why should they care to follow me? The case is dismissed. I had nothing to do with the murders."

Esther sees the tragic coherence of these rambling remarks. She urges him to confess all.

"Better to tell father also. Perhaps he can protect you from your enemies. I am sure father never will betray your trust."

Sir Donald was called, and with Esther heard the confession.

"My name is William Dodge. Yes, I am the man who commenced that villainous suit against poor Alice Webster. Don't look so hard at me! I did not kill her! I never murdered Oswald Langdon.

"It is so hard to be poor and out of work. To think of Mary and the four children without food or clothing! Why, I was so desperate at times that I would have murdered for money! What was the life of one rich, useless old man to that of my Mary and our starving children? But I was not to be a murderer. No, old Pierre Lanier saved me from that crime. Bad as he is, that must be said in his favor. How scared the old rascal was when I fired! He spoke so strangely. Said: 'My good man, you are surely mistaken, but what can I do for you? Here are some coins, all I have with me, but come along and you shall have more.' I had fired at him, but missed my aim. There was no one in sight in that deserted part of Calcutta. I mistrusted his motives, but needing money, went with him. He stopped, and we sat down on a deserted bench by the side of an old vacant house. What a sly, insinuating old villain he was! Telling me that there must be some reason for my strange action in shooting, but that he would help me if I trusted him.

"I told him of my poverty and helpless family. He seemed to pity us, and said: 'I do not blame you in the least. I admire your spirit. What can you do?'

"I told him that my former work had been bookkeeping, but that I had been discharged for dishonesty, through the connivance of another employe, who stole the money and turned suspicion on me.

"Old Pierre Lanier then became very sympathetic. I could make a neat little fortune and provide for my family's immediate wants without committing murder. He would commit any crime before those depending on him for support should suffer. If I would come with him, we would talk it over.

"I expressed fear that he would surrender me to the police.

"'Is not your revolver full of cartridges? Here, take my pistol. Soon as you see me attempting any treachery, shoot to kill. My good friend, I have use for you. If you can serve me, your family shall be well cared for, and I will find more money for you to-night.'

"With this strange assurance, so positively stated, I went with him. We entered his room, and the lights were turned on. Bringing pen, paper, and ink, he sat down by a table and wrote several names.

"'Please copy these just like originals.'

"I did as requested.

"'Good! Now these,' handing me paper with other signatures.

"'Very good! Please copy the body of the papers.'

"Then he told me of his wish to procure conveyances, purporting to come from the persons whose signatures I had copied, of property situated in London. This property was in the possession of a girl there. I was to draft these, and sign the proper names to them as grantors and witnesses. We would go to London, and at the right time begin the action for the possession of the property. He did not imagine the case ever would come to trial, but I must wait until advised to quit. My pay would be one thousand pounds and all expenses. He said the girl's title was defective, but that easily could be remedied. In the mean time my family must be provided for. 'Take these to bind the bargain.'

"What could I do but accept the offer and the money? It is easy for those having life's comforts and luxuries to be honest. What idea have such of temptation's power? Look in haggard, despairing face of wife and hear the cries of hungry children! Then be honest! Refuse to stain your soul for bread! I tell you, hunger has no soul!"

Overpowered by passionate memories, he fell back exhausted. Tears were streaming down the cheeks of Esther. Sir Donald's vision was obscured by mists. He turned away his face.

Punish such criminal? It is more likely that both these would incur liability as "accessories after the fact."

In a few minutes strength for further confessions returned.

"I often met Pierre and Paul Lanier in Calcutta. Neither of them told me directly that Paul desired to marry Alice Webster, but I was sure that this was the wish of both. I thought that if the marriage occurred, there would be a dismissal of the action, otherwise it would be pressed. In this I was but partly right. They never intended the case should be tried. It was begun to bring about the marriage. When Alice was drowned and the case was set for trial, it had to be dismissed. Paul and his father were with me when I told the solicitors to quit.

"I heard Paul tell his father before Alice Webster's death that they would never hear from that girl again. She was at the bottom of the lake. Pierre Lanier replied:

"'It is bad business, Paul, but can't be helped. Better an accident than intentionally, my boy.'

"They never knew I heard their talk. I suspected some foul play, but was surprised to have Alice and the rest of you pointed out after your arrival in London.

"Paul, his father, and I often met in London, but without being seen together. After it was rumored that Alice and Oswald Langdon had been drowned in the Thames, I felt much worried. That same evening of the night when they disappeared I heard Paul tell his father of the proposed boat-ride, but that Oswald and the two girls were going. They agreed that Paul should trail them and learn what he could. Paul told his father what he had heard in the park. Both seemed much enraged, but Pierre Lanier cautioned Paul to be patient and not lose his temper.

"'Whatever happens, he must not marry her!' said Paul.

"'That's right, my boy; but remember the lake, and keep cool. Make no rash breaks next time.'

"I was present at this conversation, but appeared not to notice their subdued talk. My curiosity was aroused by their suggestive remarks. I left about dusk. Soon after, Paul came out. I kept out of his sight, but watched him closely. He stopped beyond where the boats were. I watched at a suitable distance. Soon Oswald and Alice came down to the stream, and procuring a boat, rowed up the river. Paul followed them. Very curious to know the result, I yet feared for my own safety. If he intended any violence, I would be safer elsewhere. It would be dangerous for him to learn that I knew of his crime. He would find an effective way of silencing a witness. Besides, I might be suspected.

"These thoughts determined me to return. My curiosity was sufficiently aroused for me to shadow the neighborhood of Paul's room. My own room was in another block, but where I could see Paul if he came back the most direct route from the river. Part of the time I sat by the darkened window, looking out in the direction of the stream; at other times I strolled up and down the street. Then I would stand in the dark hallway.

"About three hours after his disappearance up the shore of the river I heard hurried steps, and slipped out into the hallway at entrance of the stairs and watched. Paul walked rapidly by, and I followed at safe distance. He soon entered his room. I returned and retired, but felt that some fearful crime had been committed.

"Next morning I bought daily papers, to learn if anything had happened to Oswald or Alice. Feeling uneasy, I haunted the neighborhood of Alice's home, but saw no signs. In the afternoon I visited the point where the boat had been taken. The keeper remarked:

"'What could have happened to that good-lookin' jay and bloomin' sweetheart of his'n? I doesn't care how much they spoons, but I wants my boat.'

"Much excited, I was walking around, wondering what had happened, when you two were seen coming. Feeling ashamed to meet the friends of the girl against whom had been brought the villainous suit, I moved up the stream to where there would be a good view of your actions. Pretty soon both of you and the keeper started up the river in a boat. I then knew neither Oswald nor Alice had returned. That they had been killed by Paul Lanier I was now sure.

"A sense of indirect complicity in this crime oppressed my heart. I skulked away and hid in my room. Uneasy there, I went over to Paul's quarters, but he was not in. His father was there, and seemed nervous. The old man asked if I had heard any news, adding that he had not been in the street yet. I noticed some of that morning's papers upon the table. He watched me suspiciously, but I acted unconcerned. I affected not to notice his nervous manner, but noted all. Listening intently to every sound, he would answer me mechanically, then would get up, slowly yawn, and shuffle toward the window fronting the street. Glancing each way, he then would be seated. His questions, answers, remarks, pauses, and whole manner confirmed me in the conviction that he had been informed of some act of Paul's resulting in the death of the missing parties. He finally became quiet, and made no responses to my talk. I knew he wished to be alone, and rose to go. Following to the door, he was extremely polite, begging me to call again next day, sure. As I left, the door closed quickly, the bolt was thrust, and the lock clicked. I waited near, but where he could not see me.

"In about fifteen minutes a stooped form, with snow-white, flowing beard, feebly emerged from the hallway. Bending over a heavy cane, this old man looked through large colored glasses up, down, and across the street. He slowly started in an opposite direction from where I was standing. After he had turned the corner, I walked rapidly around the block, and saw the old man still pegging away, watching everything along his path. Soon his steps quickened, and I was compelled to walk rapidly. Finally he turned a corner, entering a narrow alley extending between rows of low buildings. I crossed to the other side of the street, and passed down to the alley, but the old man had disappeared.

"I was sure that either Pierre or Paul Lanier, in this disguise, was now hiding in one of these low buildings along the alley. Though much excited, I knew better than longer to continue my stay in that quarter. I returned to watch the entrance to the room occupied by Paul and his father.

"In about two hours this same stooping figure slowly came up the street and entered the hallway. I was sure that Pierre Lanier had visited Paul, and was keeping him posted.

"That evening I went down to the boathouse and learned about the finding of Oswald's hat. The boat had been found. I felt creepy, and that night retired early.

"Next morning's papers told of the disappearances. In the afternoon I went over to Paul's room. Both were in, and greeted me with great apparent pleasure. They wondered why I did not come sooner. After a while Paul carelessly asked me if I had read any of the morning papers. Neither he nor his father had been on the street, except for meals. I told him that there had been considerable in the papers about our mutual friends. Here were the accounts. I expressed doubt of their correctness, and carelessly remarked:

"'Guess it's some reporter's fake.

"Paul read, and seemed greatly surprised. His father looked it all over, and wondered if there were any truth in the reports. They suggested that if it should turn out true, we must consider well our course of action. Suspicion might point to me as the one interested in the death of Alice Webster. My suit recently commenced against her might be construed as interesting me in having the girl put out of the way.

"I was terribly shocked. They continued to arouse my fears until I was frantic. Both spoke of this mysterious disappearance as most unfortunate for me under the circumstances. It seemed to me there was little chance to escape. Old Pierre Lanier thought I must remain in seclusion until matters cleared up. It would not do for me to be seen. Perhaps if I kept out of sight, no one would think of me in connection with this affair. They advised me to change my room to a certain quarter of the city, and remain there until Paul procured suitable disguise.

"I was paralyzed with fear, and did as they told me. Going back to my room, I waited until Paul entered. He came in without knocking. I was startled by the appearance of a strange man with slouch hat and heavy brown whiskers. He removed the disguise. I was told to pack my valise and trunk and get ready to move. A false beard was handed me with some old clothes. Paul told me to put them on. Giving the name of my new quarters, and cautioning me to remain there until he called, Paul ran downstairs and brought up the man who was to remove my baggage. Telling me the man had his directions and would know just where to go, Paul left. After a roundabout trip we reached my destination. I was surprised to see the driver enter the same alley down which had passed on the previous day that strange old man. With feelings of dread I followed up a back stairway into a low room, where my stuff was deposited.

"'This is the place,' said the driver, and left.

"Soon after, Paul entered in the same disguise. This, he said, was to be my home until further arrangements could be made.

"'Father and I will be over every day and report. I will show you where to board near here. Your name is to be Joshua Wilkins.'

"I remained in this place several weeks, going out frequently. Both Pierre and Paul called often, always in disguise. Occasionally we went about London together. It seemed to me at times that we were being shadowed. Sometimes when I was alone, strangers in my hearing would speak about either Paul or Pierre Lanier, and watch me, as if they knew our acquaintance. Frequently the Dodge case against Alice Webster was mentioned. There would be talk about the disappearances of Alice and Oswald. It always seemed to me that I was being watched. Paul and Pierre Lanier were affected in the same way. Strangers would refer to these subjects in their presence. Both had denied ever seeing William Dodge.

"Oh, how miserable I was during all this time! I was suspicious of everybody and trembled at common noises. Any unexpected look of stranger caused a start. It was in vain that I reasoned against this foolish fear. My misery was so great that I contemplated suicide. It seemed to me that both of the Laniers gloated over my wretchedness. They enlarged on the perils of my situation. I really believe they wished me to take my own life. From things which I then did under their advice I often think they intended deserting me. If the bodies of Alice and Oswald had been found, I believe these villains would have procured my arrest for the murders. I was completely in their power, and it now seems that they were weaving a web for my destruction. They owed me nine hundred pounds, and I knew things against them. I bore up under it all, for the sake of Mary and the children. Old Pierre had given me in all one hundred pounds before we started for London. I gave most of this to Mary.

"Poor Mary! I have not heard from her for many weeks. Now I am here in this hospital, dying!

"Serves me right for killing that poor girl! Yes, I'm to blame that Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster were drowned! But tell the jury, Mary and the children were hungry! Tell them that. Tell the judge about Mary and the children. Don't forget to tell the judge that! Tell everybody about that!"

There was a long silence. With scared faces Sir Donald and Esther bent over the motionless form. The attending physician felt the wrist, listened for heart-throbs. A cordial was administered. That deathlike swoon lasted for several minutes, followed by slow return to consciousness. It was evident that further attempt of the sick man to relate his experiences with these archconspirators then would be unadvisable. The physician said there was some hope of the man's recovery, but that quiet and rest were imperative. Sir Donald and Esther were loth to go, but the hospital rules were strict. They left, much interested in the fate of William Dodge.

The confession, though confirming Sir Donald's theory of this conspiracy, was startling. That Paul Lanier had murdered both Oswald and Alice was evident. But what had become of the bodies? Could it be that the hat and handkerchief were placed where found to mislead as to manner of deaths? Were the bodies still in the river, or buried elsewhere? Perhaps the remains of Oswald and Alice had been reduced to ashes and scattered to the winds. How could the necessary evidence be obtained? How bring their murderers to justice without proof of the "corpus delicti"? Could this dying man know other facts furnishing a clew to establish their deaths? Would it be right to harass him with further inquiry upon the verge of the tomb? Why employ his slender thread of life in unraveling this intricate web. Better point him to that hope which is the refuge of a sinful soul.

But is there any way of saving this guilty wretch, with his crimes unconfessed? First confession, then shriving of the penitent.

Limit the mercy of Heaven? Is the Infinite compassion contingent upon finite fellow tactics?

Sir Donald and Esther felt more solicitude for the sick man's recovery than in further revelations.

Next day they are early callers at the hospital. William Dodge is still alive, but delirious. He slept much of the night, but is flighty, making many wild, incoherent speeches. Receiving permission to see him, Sir Donald and Esther approach the cot.

"No, Mary, I will never let you or the children starve! I got the money from Pierre Lanier! Dear old Pierre Lanier saved my Mary and the children! Put that down! Yes, the old rascal saved Mary and the children from starving! Put that down! Old Pierre saved me from being a murderer! Write that in the book, too! No, I never struck either of them! It was Paul Lanier! He murdered them! Your boy is not a murderer! Mother, I am innocent! Mary's folks said William Dodge could not provide for Mary! I did though! But Mary cried about the children! How Mary and the children ate that night! I got it all from dear old Pierre Lanier!"

There was another pause, and the delirious man seemed to sleep. Suddenly he struck his clenched hand upon the spread and stared wildly.

"You miserable murderer! Keep that money, and I will hang you! Send it to me, or I will tell how Paul killed Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon! That's right! Pay me, and it's all right! I'll never squeal! I need it for Mary and the children! They'll be happy now!"

Sir Donald and Esther make daily calls until it is safe to see their interesting invalid. Recovery is slow. Sir Donald broaches the subject of the Thames tragedy. Dodge does not remember much of his former talk, but seems willing to divulge all he knows. He trusts that these kind friends will not betray his confidence. The Laniers would murder him if they heard.

Receiving positive assurance that there will be nothing said until Dodge is consulted, the narrative is again begun. Sir Donald tells him the substance of former statements.

"Well, I will complete the horrible story, relying on your promise never to tell without my consent. Those Laniers would surely find a swift way of silencing me if they knew I had told. Often I am afraid that they will have me assassinated, anyhow.

"Both of them came together to my hiding-place, much excited. My case against Alice was set for trial. Her barrister had procured the setting. They were much perplexed at this, and wondered if Alice and Oswald had turned up. Both were pale, and Paul trembled violently. He was not shamming this time. His father was nervous, but advised Paul to keep cool or all would be lost. We went together that night to see my solicitors. Pierre said he had seen them before, and that they would be in their office waiting for me. Pierre and Paul were disguised. I was to tell the solicitors that the case should be dismissed, as my witnesses could not be found.

"We entered the office, and found both solicitors there. When I told them to have the case dismissed they were much surprised.

"'A continuance can be procured on proper showing.'

"Pierre Lanier scowled, and looking at me, shook his head.

"I insisted upon its dismissal, as the witnesses could not be relied upon. One solicitor said:

"'You have a complete chain of title deeds, and need no other witnesses, except to prove their genuineness.'

"Old Pierre frowned, and I replied:

"'It is better to quit. I do not care to press the case.'

"They looked at each other and at us suspiciously.

"Old Pierre then spoke up, saying:

"'My friend wishes to drop the case. I understand that he owes you part of your fee. What were you to pay them, Mr. Dodge?'

"I replied, 'Two hundred pounds.'

"'How much have you paid?'

"'Fifty pounds.'

"'Well, I know you have little money to waste on this case. These gentlemen have been paid well for what has been done thus far. If you need fifty pounds more to pay them off, I will loan the amount.'

"His proposition was promptly accepted. It was arranged that the case should be dismissed and the money paid. This was done.

"The Laniers now seemed anxious to get rid of me. I insisted on payment of the remaining nine hundred pounds. They expostulated with me; said it was outrageous; what good had I done them?

"To my remark that I was to quit upon their advice, and had done so, Pierre replied:

"'Yes, but who imagined Alice would be drowned?'

"Paul said:

"'You are suspected of putting her out of the way!'

"I was so angry that I looked straight at him, and said:

"'You know more about that than I do!'

"I have often been sorry for this thrust, but it went home. Paul grew pale, and stared at me frightfully.

"'Here, boys, none of your foolish quarreling!' said Pierre. 'Mr. Dodge is entitled under the contract to the money. It shall never be said that Pierre Lanier failed to keep his word. We must stand by each other whatever happens. Mr. Dodge has a family, and long as I live they shall be provided for. I could beat him out of the money, as the contract was illegal and void. He could be prosecuted for conspiracy and fraud. Mr. Dodge will be suspected of murdering that man and girl. I have already heard rumors to that effect. But we must stand together. It would never do for Mr. Dodge to return home now. He must stay away from Calcutta a year, at least. Paul and I will go to Calcutta. We will let you know all that happens. You must not write to London, or to any one but me. I will deliver your letters to Mary, and mail hers to you. Your name must be James Wilton. When it is safe, I will write you to come home.'

"I saw the force of these directions, but asked how I was to live during my stay from home, and what provisions would be made for my family.

"Pierre replied: 'To-morrow you shall have one hundred pounds. I will give Mary one hundred pounds on my arrival in Calcutta. In one year I will pay each of you an additional hundred pounds. By that time, in all probability, you can return, and I will pay the balance in five equal annual installments.'

"This arrangement was made between us. I was in their power, and did just as he said. In a short time I sailed for Paris with the promised payment. The Laniers were to sail for Calcutta soon after. I have never received any letter from either of them since. A letter came to me from Mary, speaking of having received one hundred pounds, but not knowing from whom. It was placed to her credit in a Calcutta bank, and notice to that effect was left at the house. The letter was addressed to James Wilton in a disguised hand, but the inside sheet was in Mary's handwriting. She had been told at the bank that I was in Bombay. Doubtless her letter went there, and was forwarded by some one instructed by Pierre Lanier to me at Paris.

"Letters from my wife came regularly. I continued to write, as directed by Pierre Lanier, and Mary received my letters. It was evident that Pierre had furnished the information of my being in Bombay, and I kept up the delusion.

"Life here in Paris, without employment, harassed by uncertainty, compelled to pass under an assumed name, away from my family, and obliged to keep up a deceitful correspondence with Mary, who supposed I was in Bombay, became very miserable. Still there was no alternative. I dreaded any failure to comply with the wishes of the Laniers. They would hesitate at no crime to protect themselves. I believed they suspected me of thinking Paul had murdered Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. It would be safer for me to be away from them. Would they not plot my death if I were at Calcutta? If suspected or pursued, they might accuse me of the crime, and both conspire to secure my conviction.

"After some time spent in Paris, Mary's letters ceased. I waited anxiously, but none came. Writing for explanations, I received no answer. My fears were aroused. Was she sick? Did my letters reach her? Were her letters and mine intercepted? Were detectives on my trail? Could it be that the Laniers were being pursued for those murders? Had they decided to throw me off?

"A thousand fears haunted me. I was in constant dread of being identified, yet looked daily for a letter from Mary. Sometimes I would fully decide to start for Calcutta, regardless of consequences, but abandoned the plan. I took sick. Becoming very weak, a physician was consulted. After a few visits, he directed that I be removed to the hospital. Here I have been for weeks, without hearing from my wife or family. What can I do to hear of them? Oh, can't you do something in my behalf? Help me to hear from Mary and the children!"

Sir Donald asked many questions about the deaths of Oswald and Alice, but elicited little further information. He was convinced that nothing had been concealed. There was no positive proof of their deaths. How could this missing link be procured?

Both Sir Donald and Esther were much interested in the family of William Dodge. That this husband and father had been led into crime through poverty was apparent. His love for hungry wife and children placed him at the mercy of this archvillain, who, with his murderous son, had caused so much suffering.

Sir Donald well knew that to keep inviolate his agreement with William Dodge would be a technical concealment of crime. Yet he would have accepted any fate rather than betray such trust.

Strict compliance with penal statutes may require much individual meanness.

William Dodge was most unhappy. Each movement made seemed to further involve him in hopeless entanglement. The mistake which resulted in his wildly aimed cartridge missing its intended victim saved him from guilt of homicide.

But how judge of any event by its immediate circle? Only that far cycle whose ever-widening circuit merges eternal radii can fully compass the puissance of human action.

Under stress of immediate death he had fully confessed all. Now even the one dubious remnant of personal honor, according to crime's unwritten code, is swept away.

How could the wretch, about to escape all human reckoning, making cowardly confession of crime involving fellow-guilt, hope that his confidences would remain inviolate? One of the penalties of faithless duplicity is that all trust in fellow-fealty dies.

William Dodge now feared that those who so kindly watched over his hospital cot would betray his trust. They doubtless were solicitous for his recovery, that he and the Laniers might be brought to ultimate justice. What respect could be expected of these for pledges given to one who had conspired against a helpless orphan? Why should they not speed the conviction of him whose intrigues were accessory to this double homicide?

How hard to conceive of better than self!

Neither Sir Donald nor Esther ever thought of punishment for the man just saved from the grave. Both felt that this poor fellow and his family were their special wards. All moral taint was covered by the mantle of sympathetic interest. Sir Donald had concluded that something must be done in behalf of those at Calcutta. It would not do to write, as this might in some way lead to inquiry for the absent father. He would avoid any course of action tending to affect the safety of this poor fellow with his burden of troubles.

There are persons who cannot do a mean act.

Though at times loth to leave Paris, Sir Donald and Esther will visit Calcutta. Thereby they may learn all about the Dodge family, and perhaps render needed assistance.

It has been three days since the hospital visit. Esther has been sick. When able to sit up, she insists upon his making a call upon their interesting convalescent and telling him of the proposed trip to India. Judge of Sir Donald's surprise upon being informed that William Dodge had been removed from the hospital. At his request a conveyance bore him away the previous evening, but no one knew where. Not a word had been said by him giving any clew to his intentions. Nothing was uttered about Sir Donald or Esther.

This strange conduct greatly mystified Sir Donald. He framed all sorts of queries as to possible causes. Had their failure to make daily calls aroused Dodge's suspicion? Was this poor fellow afraid of their betraying him? Did he think that having procured a full confession, they had no further interest except his conviction of crime? Had the identity and whereabouts of William Dodge been discovered? Were his silence and removal only parts of an adroitly planned detective ruse? Could it be that the Laniers were at the bottom of this strange move? What if William Dodge were to be tried for murdering Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster? Had the Laniers accused him of these crimes? Strange if Paul were to be tried as principal and the other two as accessories. Possibly the detectives had a complete chain of evidence connecting these with the murders and the bodies were discovered.

Sir Donald is much perplexed. This must not be communicated to the London office. In all this tangle there is one clear point. Whatever the result, Sir Donald will shield William Dodge. That family must be found and kept from want. Delay and premature action are alike precarious.

He compromises by a brief stay in Paris, better to know how to proceed. Failing to learn anything more, Sir Donald and Esther leave for Calcutta.



CHAPTER X

AT THE HIMALAYAS

Traversing many weary miles of that vast Indian Empire, the survey party reaches the Himalaya range.

Twenty-five persons are in the camp. The guide is an intelligent Hindu. There are one German, a Russian, and an American. Ample provisions had been made for the journey. The chief is absolute head of the undertaking, but void of light as to its ultimate purposes.

From the outset Oswald is well treated. In his looks is that which claims respect. While feeling gratitude for employment and evident good-will, Oswald's experiences of the recent past make him pensive. This abstraction had been noted. His prompt obedience to all orders wins approval. He never makes inquiries as to the purposes of this expedition. His chief reciprocates by not referring to Oswald's antecedents and by relieving him from the natural curiosity of fellow-workers.

For a long time they are employed in surveying the mountain passes and approaches. Maps are made and grades established. For many miles on both sides of the range the country is explored, and numberless cipher annotations are placed on the charts. Much care is taken in survey of streams and the location of springs.

Oswald becomes greatly interested in this work, but asks only questions about technical parts. He learns much of triangulation and of aneroid computations. Vernier and arc readings become familiar.

At times tripod and transit seem revolving belcher of deadly hail. Glaring eastward from rocky summit is a "lion rampant." This figure slowly retreats backward with sullen roar. Now upon the mountain apex appears a huge grizzly form, looking from shaggy, impassive brows toward sea and plain and jungle. A mighty horde sweeps down, emerging from pass and rocky fastnesses. This army, scattering over the plain, is swelled by Moslem, Sikh, Hindu, Parsee, and Buddhist allies, until its millions hold India's domain. The perspective becomes confused, outlines jumble, figures are inverted, lights and shadows intermingle their chameleon hues, until under widened folds of British and Russian canvas "Lion" and "Bear" divide the "foray," still regarding each other with "rolling eyes of prey."

From such chimeras Oswald turns to more prosaic matters.

Many books had been brought on this far journey. Long, tedious hours are beguiled in the perusal of their contents. History, politics, war, poetry, religion, and romance are freely discussed by different members of the party during hours spent in camp. Both German and Russian speak English fairly well; the Hindu guide is easily understood. There is a plentiful supply of rifles, swords, knives, and ammunition. When possible, all camp near together, taking proper precautions against attacks from roving bands of marauders.

Oswald's most intimate associates are the chief, German, American, and Russian. These are not afflicted with curiosity as to each other's past. The chief is under sealed orders; both German and Russian had left their respective countries for good of Kaiser and Tsar; the American is an adventurous son of millionaire residing in New York. Weary of ennui in the metropolis, this Yankee aristocrat seeks diversion in trips to all parts of the globe. All of these are recipients of classic culture.

Oswald's experiences had been most limited, but of greatest intensity. Since his Northfield romance, pain of years had crowded into a few brief months. The face of Esther Randolph is indelibly painted on his memory. Now free from haunting fear of detection, Oswald can more rationally review the events driving him into indefinite exile from home and friends. Doubtless Sir Donald and Esther believed him dead. They never could accuse him of murdering Alice Webster, but surely would charge this crime and his own death upon Paul Lanier. The lake tragedy was conclusive. Would not Esther have sad recollections of the man who sought her hand and met such death? That she would never marry another he is sure. Has this lovely girl entered upon her chosen mission? To himself he says:

"One so pure should find refuge from earth's coarse pleasures in holy consecration to spiritual ideals. How grand the influences of those moral advisers whose teachings had directed her feet aright.

"Could I only see father and mother! What sleepless nights they must have passed since my disguised exit from that home, months ago! If I could only write to or hear from them! It may be that this horrible condition of things is proper punishment for my presumptuous pride, but why should the innocent suffer? When will this mystery be cleared? What is being done to convict the guilty?"

Oswald now hopes that English justice will not be delinquent. Surely detectives can unravel this complicated web. Why are these sleuths so tardy? He now chafes at the slow zeal of those whose pursuit of Oswald Langdon would have been resisted to the death. These ministers of justice, in honest, tireless search for the murderer of Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster, even now would reckon lightly of their own lives if they attempted his arrest. But this high-spirited youth feels no tremor of physical fear. The gallows have no terrors other than those of unmerited ignominy. Oswald would rush on swift death if thereby the name of Langdon could be cleared.

He thus upbraids himself: "My flight from London was cowardly. Better with moral determination to have faced all and accepted my fate. The death of Alice Webster is unavenged; her slayer is at large, a human beast of prey; father and mother are in frightful suspense; the spectral hand of the drowned girl beckons me to revenge upon her murderer; but ignoring all these, I am a selfish, cowardly 'derelict,' fearful of possible harm."

Then he exclaims: "Not too fast! Has not English justice gloated over conviction of the innocent? What fearful irony in some of its swift so-called vindications! How can public clamor be satisfied but by sacrifice when there is a victim at hand? What hope that detectives would pursue Paul Lanier for the murder of Alice Webster with Oswald Langdon conveniently near? Are not my absence and supposed death necessary to the unraveling of this intricate plot? In what other way can the name of Langdon be cleared from pending disgrace?"

Oswald now desires to live until justice triumphs. He sometimes feels assurance that all will be righted. It is difficult to restrain his curiosity within discreet bounds.

The camp discussions help to divert his thought from somber reflections. These informal debates take wide range.

Karl Ludwig is a versatile German. Though thinking it discreet to absent himself from fatherland, Karl is at heart loyal to his sturdy young Kaiser. To Karl the memories of imperial Teutonic succession and achievements are proud heritage. He would champion the real cause of his emperor against the world. In event of foreign attack Karl would subscribe without reserve to the "divine rights" of William. There is in his heart no place for treason.

Like many other exiles from native land, Karl was a real menace to constituted authority. Speech led him into proscribed provinces. Harmless in overt act or intent, his words were deadly explosives, charged with dynamo energy sufficient to wreck every throne of Europe.

To poetic or reflective mind Karl's startling metaphors were harmless hyperbole or garrulous trope of brilliant, idealistic sentiment, but such fired credulous natures to white heat of anarchy. It became essential to German tranquillity that Karl Ludwig be suppressed.

Not aware of proper rating by officials of fatherland, Karl took passage for Calcutta, landing with culture, pride, and imagination at this Indian metropolis.

Ivan Shelgunoff graduated from Moscow University. He had imbibed sentiments harmless in theory, but inimical to practical policies of Russian civics. Having no intention of posing as factional disturber of the public peace, his indiscreet utterances reach ear of vigilant official. Not fascinated with prospect of indefinite Siberian exile, Ivan procured leave to quit the domain of the Tsar, finding habitation under the British flag in this seaport near the mouth of the Ganges.

Yet Ivan Shelgunoff is proud of Russian traditions and statecraft, feeling no bitterness toward Nicholas II., but filial reverence for this recently crowned youthful patriarch-autocrat.

Intrusted with enforcement of police regulations, Ivan soon would abandon plausible theories of individual freedom as Utopian chimeras, not adapted to exigencies of practical civic needs. Siberian penal exile would become essential part of police supervision, with possible excesses, as in all provisions for the suppression of crime.

Oswald comes to regard Karl Ludwig and Ivan Shelgunoff with much interest. Their critical, liberal sentiments, so well expressed, are appreciated by his subtle perception. Through these garrulous, versatile commentators his horizon is vastly extended. Readily appropriating the good, he notes defects and makes judicious comparisons. Seldom drawn into discussion or comment, his evident interest insures hearty good-will. However, these vocal encyclopedias of wisdom generally and of statecraft in particular at times are surprised by Oswald's responses to their direct appeals. By a subtle system of intellectual buccaneering this reserved Englishman winnows from much chaffy verbiage the real seeds of thought. In fresh-turned fallow of his fertile fancy the grain germinates into better growths. They wonder at his quick perception, profound discrimination, and marvelous craft of readjustment. That this British subject can see in the different policies of more absolute powers and in less flexible modes of civic alignment so much to commend or excuse to them is queer indeed. They surmise that by habitual globe-trotting Oswald has become a "citizen of the world."

Strange that he who would resent the least show of arbitrary interference with his own interests finds so much to justify in rigorous German and Russian policies.

When Oswald did express an opinion on any of the subjects under discussion, Karl and Ivan seemed to accept his comments as oracle, making no adverse suggestions. Such deference is no infrequent tribute to well-bred reserve.

To some criticisms of Karl Ludwig, Oswald showed much sympathy with aspirations of Emperor William for military resources promptly available in all emergencies. He said:

"Increased land and naval equipment should be voted by the Reichstag in the interest of German tranquillity. Such expenditures are economic precautions against expensive wars. Thereby the solvency of the German exchequer would be moderately insured. So far from unduly fostering a bellicose spirit tending to war, these would be tactful preventives of wasteful foreign and civil broils. Fifty years' current expense to insure the empire's peace would not equal waste of one such serious conflict. There is no doubt that this sturdy sovereign possesses much military spirit. This is natural heritage, coming down in direct royal line from hero ancestry. Fostered by severe German tactics, it tends toward ambition for martial prestige, but has been consecrated to the arts of peace. It is but natural that such trend and discipline tinge this consecration with heroic shades. These are not the results of diseased caprice, but suggest potent considerations which it would be well to respect. Let none think that William would falter in any crisis. The same imperial foresight prompting some strange assertions of royal prerogatives would head German armies, for success of colonial extension, in chastisement for wanton treaty violations, or to preserve the integrity of his empire. Much lightly has been written about the caprices of this ruler, but genius always was peculiar."

After an impressive silence, Oswald resumes:

"Cares of empire have strange tendencies and special warrant."

Dreamily looking at Karl, Oswald then, as if in reverie, quotes:

"'And some among you held, that if the King Had seen the sight, he would have sworn the vow; Not easily, seeing that the King must guard That which he rules, and is but as the hind To whom a space of land is given to plow, Who may not wander from the allotted field, Until his work be done.'"

At another time there had been an animated discussion between Ivan Shelgunoff and Karl Ludwig as to the comparative merits of Russian and German dynasties, with the peculiar institutions of both countries. Direct appeal being made to Oswald for an opinion, he avoids invidious comparisons, and says:

"Nicholas II. is crowned head of an absolute dynasty. The royal line of Romanoff succession found in him rightful representative of its august power. Whatever may be said about the rigor of Russian rule and its conflict with Nihilistic tendencies, the quarrel so far as pertains to this young sovereign is that of a true inheritor.

"Nicholas succeeded to Russian policies as essential allies of his crown. These are united in newly welded bonds of imperial wedlock. Their divorce would be destruction of his throne.

"Representative liberty is a comparative ideal. The Russian peasant enjoys frugal life with his family and few humble friends. Is it likely that such feel the autocratic pressure of their Tsar? Perhaps there may be many cases wherein private rights have been ruthlessly invaded, but are not such results usually due to insolent perversions by minor officials? Doubtless many innocent suspects are sent into hopeless exile through official zeal, still like effects often result from similar causes in liberal commonwealths."

Looking in questioning banter at Claude Leslie, Oswald says:

"It has been rumored that in the great republic beyond the Atlantic they sometimes do a little 'railroading.'"

Tippoo Kalidasa is an interesting Hindu. With self-inflicted cognomen and many eccentric notions about all sorts of subjects, Tippoo can talk well and to the point. Though a professed disciple of modern Brahmanism, he had deeply imbibed Buddhistical precepts and philosophy. The lessons learned in childhood at his island home never were forgotten.

Leaving Ceylon about his eighteenth year, Tippoo had traveled much in China, Japan, and over parts of Siberia before going to India. Everywhere had been accented in human lives the influence of that noble prince, the founder of Buddhism. True, Tippoo saw in these writings frequent contradictions, yet the character of this Indian teacher was pure.

Faith rarely insists on absolutely consistent verities.

Much travel among peoples of other beliefs, and study of new religious tenets had modified these earlier views. In reflective moods, Tippoo saw much to criticise in this ancient philosophy, which, though indelibly stamped upon its modern successor, as a professed system of religious teaching, had become almost a stranger in the land of its original growth. Still these early influences are most potent. In all emergencies of thought or feeling, Tippoo Kalidasa soulfully repeats the formula:

"I take refuge in Buddha!"

Though Oswald's mind is not excessively tinged with the speculative or ethical, he finds much of interest in the talk of this unique guide.

So rudely having been torn from all early environments, with such shock of utter change in thought and impulse, is it strange that former trend is broken? While tempering the white heat of aspiration, Oswald's recent troubles widened his horizon. But novel tempers are not wholly the results of changed circumstances. Latent powers and senses are awakened.

At times the memories of recent experiences weigh upon Oswald's mind, but are not always present. There is little menace of arrest and much youthful elastic spirit. Imperious will is in abeyance. There are moods of chastened relaxation from self-consciousness, with peculiar sense of relief and compensation.

Many an hour is beguiled by these two widely different men in comment upon this philosophy of the East. A moral system claiming the fealty of so great a part of earth's population surely is an important subject for human study.

Much pleased at the interest of this dignified Englishman trying to understand the tenets of an ancient faith, Tippoo talks freely and profoundly, giving numerous explanatory versions from his own fertile fancy.

Oswald notes the strong points, beautiful sentiments, practical beneficence, and occult theories of this oriental belief. He becomes enamored of the life and teachings of Prince Guatama.

To some criticisms of Ivan Shelgunoff, Oswald replies:

"Original doctrines often are distorted by ignorant interpreters. Great ideas are degraded by dogmatic priestcraft."

There is no danger of Oswald becoming a partisan of this creed. He is impressed with its defects, though appreciating the sublimity of general tenets. Oswald does not like the doctrine of "Merger." This assertive Briton has no desire to lose identity in "Brahm." Oswald Langdon as dissolved dewdrop in shoreless sea were too vague.

From listening to these German, Russian, and Hindu philosophers, Oswald enjoys talking with Claude Leslie. This rich American has none of that reputed affectation of some western aristocrats. His manners are frank, without any suggestion of pretense. Having the entree of Gotham select circles, Claude sailed on an extended tour of the world. He had visited at leisure nearly every port and important city of earth. With a quick sense of the remarkable in ordinary commonplace, he had seen much of interest. His descriptions greatly entertained Oswald, who never tired of listening to Claude's narratives. Indeed it may be well surmised that from some of the broad-gauge ideas and epigrammatic sayings of Claude Leslie came much of Oswald's changed views and disposition to justify or excuse in others that which he formerly considered as utterly without warrant.

How little does the awakened alert sense reckon of the initial processes of its quickening!

The most fascinating parts of Claude's talks are about persons, places, events, anecdotes, and incidents familiar to this Yankee aristocrat before starting on his prolonged tour of the world.

Oswald becomes greatly interested in the affairs of this land beyond the seas. Much had been written about "impressions" of America and Americans. He had read some of these erudite, mildly drawn caricatures, and is not predisposed toward the homes or characters of those "cousins" across the Atlantic. A few that he had met in England strengthened this prejudice. Shallow attempts to ape everything English had disgusted this frank, open-hearted, perceptive Briton, with his innate abhorrence of sham pretensions.

Americanism as typified by Claude Leslie is a new revelation. Such incarnation of a great national character evokes his English pride of kinship. He feels a most complacent sense of British responsibility for American progress. In response to some of Claude's comments, Oswald inquires:

"With such pedigree, why should not this bounding thoroughbred win the Derby?"

Oswald begins to feel potent suggestions that much of human prejudice results from long-range ignorance. That this narrow-gauge, contracting visual handicap is a real social, religious, and political astigmatism he now and then quite clearly sees.

Claude Leslie's comments upon Gotham social and business life are those of a close observer. His criticisms are judicious. Though frequently barbed, these shafts never are tipped with malice.

Replying to opinions expressed by Karl Ludwig about reported whims of New York's "Four Hundred," Claude says:

"These practices result from local conditions. Those living there must conform to the unwritten social law, or risk the ostracising penalties. To some, caste observances are irksome and utterly sham, while to others the very breath of life. It ought not to be expected that all curb their tastes to conform to the fastidious notions of a few, nor should this fashionable minority be unduly blamed for exclusive whims. There always have been and will be select circles. Those sensitively chafing against this would be better employed in rising superior to such things. Even those who set the social pace often feel rebellious toward this dictator. Beneath the disguise of caste New York's select circle love, hate, despair, trust, doubt, rejoice, and suffer in degree like others. I have found such life dull, but concede the right to 'pay the price.' Temperaments differ. Constant touch with their kind is a necessity to many."